


Playing for Position

by twistedchick



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Games, M/M, Yuletide 2003, strip go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/twistedchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dylan and Tyr play strip Go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing for Position

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lovely Evil One](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lovely+Evil+One).



"Your move."

I set a white stone on the board with a hollow click. The board was golden-grained wood crosshatched with narrow slips of inlaid onyx, the stone pale shell, lens-shaped, smooth and cool. The dark stones that he used had been shaped of slate, polished to a shine by generations of fingertips.

Dylan's eyes narrowed slightly as he took the move into account. He countered with a stone that he apparently thought would stop my taking over a third of the board in two further moves.

"You're thinking too much," he said.

"You're not thinking enough." I slapped a stone on the board to enclose territory and removed those of his stones that lay within it. "Your mind is lounging on the beach at Errisca."

"Probably." He rolled three dark stones, each the size of a thumbtip, in one hand as he counted the stones I'd removed. Nine. "Unfortunately, my body has to be here to negotiate with the ambassador of Caenid Maioris, when we get there in seventy hours. What's your excuse?"

I shrugged as I watched him make the next move, in a different quadrant of the board. "I could have stayed at the port, but I had no great desire to watch Beka shop or watch Harper bargain for parts for the Maru. It's been a while since I had a chance to travel in this part of the galaxy."

"So you've been here before. What do you think of our chances?"

"Fair, presuming you can get their attention for long enough." I outflanked him with another stone and sat back in the chair. He was playing broadly, unlike his usual style. "Toss them a bone or two to chew on and they'll be happy enough."

Dylan's eyebrow rose. "Should I assume you meant that metaphorically?"

I smiled at him, brightly and falsely, mimicking his official diplomatic smile though he might not realize it. "Have you ever seen the good citizens of Caenid Maioris? It's a good thing we don't have any dogs aboard; they'd take it poorly." I placed a stone to control a corner, and took away half a dozen of his. "That's fifteen."

"Damn." It was a reflex by now, said without heat. He shifted in the chair and took off his belt.

"Fifteen. Not ten."

"Greedy, aren't you." But his glare similarly lacked heat. He unfastened one boot. "Work for it."

"Why, when I can play for it?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with a reply."

"Wise." I considered and discarded a comment on how dignified he looked in one boot and one bare foot.

Play the whole board, my father taught me long ago. Play the whole board. A move in one corner may control that corner, but a move nearer the center may control the corner and the side and the center as well. Individual pieces are only placeholders. What matters is territory contained, controlled.

Dylan scowled at the board. Was that an off-board move designed to distract me? He had a poker face, when he chose to use it. Was I seeing his mask slip, a glimpse of genuine annoyance, or a further mask? He slapped a stone down near the center, as if randomly.

"What's the matter, Captain? Uncomfortable playing in only two dimensions?"

This earned me another scowl.

"I was playing this game before your great-grandfather was in diapers," he muttered.

"You played the expanded game, with that board." I gestured toward the blue and crystal three-dimensional board on the adjacent table. "Did you ever play the original game before?"

He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Somewhere along the line. It wasn't considered as useful for learning multidimensional maneuvering."

"Go is not a tool or lesson plan." I felt a growl in the back of my voice and let it edge through but it felt too rough and I smoothed it back over as I continued. "It is the study of a lifetime for philosophers and tacticians. If you discarded the pure game too soon, no wonder you learned little from it."

But he had felt the edge, I could tell. He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think my playing was upsetting you that much."

I snorted. "I'm only annoyed at the way you're disgracing your teachers by forgetting what they taught you."

His cheeks flushed, an attractive change that made his eyes flash. "Should I ask where you found this antique?"

"Actually, you may have played on it before, for all I know. It belonged to a Nietzschian lieutenant. I found it when we were clearing out the cabins, and kept it."

"Which lieutenant?"

"Arcturus Savoy, of Kodiak Pride. He was my great-great-great-granduncle, twice removed on my mother's side."

"Oh." He set a stone onto the board, blocking movement toward the left side.

I chose a stone from my bowl of stones and rubbed it with my fingertips. Was he being deliberately obtuse, or did he genuinely not see the situation he'd placed himself in?

It is in my nature to play games; all war is a contest, and all contests are war in their heart. But I paused, long enough that he said, "Are you going to move or not?"

I set the stone down on the board at the perfect intersection of lines for it to negate the last stone Dylan had played and capture all the remaining available territory. Oh, there were a few places where he could retake one or two stones' worth of space, but for all intents and purposes I had won. Overwhelmingly.

Dylan stared at the board. "How did you do that?"

"It should be obvious enough." I leaned back in my chair. "Are you going to pay up?"

"I don't suppose I could get you to play double or nothing right now."

"You're right. You shouldn't suppose that ... right now."

I had every right to enjoy this. It's not every day that I win against the man who, from his aggressive personality alone, should have been born Nietzschian. I had put him into a position where I would be able to do what I wished, and he would be bound by his troublesome sense of honor to acquiesce. Unless, of course, he chose to exercise his personality rather than his honor.

So far, honor was ahead by the second boot and sock, which he took off at once. "So. What did you have in mind?" He paused, his fingers on the catch of his tunic.

"Did you have a suggestion?"

Dylan's eyes sparked, and I felt an answering tingle. "Null-grav wrestling room on C deck."

"Some other time."

"What, you'd turn down a chance to throw my weight around?"

I shrugged. "I was thinking of something more ... contextual." I stood and stretched, watching him finger a fastening on his sleeve.

"Contextual."

"Suited to a particular context."

He walked over to me, feet bare, tunic open, his hand hovering warm enough in front of me that I felt myself swell under the heat of his palm. "I didn't think you needed to change ... context for that. This is the crew activities lounge, after all."

"Shouldn't the activity determine the context?"

"I'm the winner. I determine both." I stepped backward, then forward to maintain control. Before he could react I put a hand behind his head and kissed him. He tasted of the hearty Denobian beer we'd been drinking, of salt and hops and something sweet as molasses. He drew a quick breath through his nose, startled, and held still, but his mouth opened to me.

Then his left hand came around to tangle in my hair, and his right hand unfastened my breeches as if he'd been undoing them all his life. Rather than fend him off, I undid his own and brought him out curving in my hand.

His heat met mine, curve for curve. His fingers were long, his narrow palm wrapping around my cock, just roughly enough. My hand, around him, met his; our fingers meshed and enclosed both of us, length against length, strength against strength, slick and hot. Our hands moved together, down slowly, up quickly, catching under the head, down and up again.

When his lips opened wider, I took it as invitation and allowed him equal access, and the rhythm we set there echoed the rhythm our hands had already taken, tongues caressing and exploring in rhythm and counterpoint. My breathing roughened as I heard his grow harsh; the kiss broke off as our hands sped together until we had both spent ourselves. We stood together, dripping with sweat, heartbeats pounding echoes through our skin as we leaned together, our hands slicked equally.

He licked a drop of sweat from the side of my neck and smiled at me. "Best two games out of three?"

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lovely Evil One in the 2003 Yuletide challenge.


End file.
